Chapter 4 Cody
It’s been a while since I had a flu this bad.
It keeps me hostage for much longer than I would have wanted, and ultimately, it takes me an entire week to feel well enough to leave the house.
When I’m finally better, there’s no question about where I’ll go; I’ve been dying to visit the cake shop.
These past days, I’ve been living on crackers and juice, so I’m not entirely sure eating cake is a good idea, but as we already established, that’s not my reason for going there.
The fifteen-minute walk to the shop takes me almost twice as long as usual, and when I finally arrive, I’m relieved to have made it and to find that Luc is there.
He’s leaning against the counter behind him, and he looks a little glum as he stares at the phone in his hand, scrolling quickly in what seems like annoyance.
Or is that only my imagination? He must have heard the entrance bell ring when I entered, but he didn’t look up, and I think I heard him sigh.
“Bonjour, comment puis-je vous aider?” He puts his phone down without looking, and I can only assume he thinks I’m just a random customer when he asks how he can help me. Well, who knows, maybe to him, I am only that.
“Hi,” I say, announcing my presence. I debated calling him gorgeous again, but it’s been a week since I last saw him, so it’s probably a bad idea.
He finally looks up and sees me. When he does, his eyes widen, and his annoyance is replaced by surprise. The silence between us drags on, our stares uninterrupted, until he finally says, “T’étais où?”
I have no idea what that means. “Sorry?”
“Where were you?!”
I blink quickly a few times because he seems upset. Hang on . . . is that truly the case? Is he upset because I wasn’t here? Is there a chance he perhaps missed me?
“Sorry, I was sick. I could barely get out of bed, and to tell you the truth, coming here today was a struggle too. I’m here through sheer willpower.”
He stares at me, and I can see him swallow. “You were sick?” he asks. “Was that it?”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re better, and you immediately came here?”
“Yes. Well, I’m almost better. Not entirely.”
He lets out what almost sounds like a sigh of relief and smiles, but it’s only brief. Before long, he turns a little glum again, looking at the counter and pouting. Still, something’s different about him from when I walked in—he seems lighter somehow. “I had to throw away the cake I saved for you.”
“You saved me cake?” I ask, surprised. He nods. “Why didn’t you just eat it yourself?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t want it.”
“Must have been an awful cake, then.”
A twinkle appears in his eyes, along with a curve on his lips. “You know I save only the worst for you.”
My face breaks into a smile, the first in a week. ”I do, and yet, I still keep coming back for more.”
“Oui,” he says, smiling sweetly, and it’s in this moment that I realize .
. . he seems to thrive on insulting me and acting distant, but he also loves it when I compliment and flirt with him.
It brings out a softer side in him, and makes cracks in a wall I don’t know who put there.
Here’s one thing I do know: I will try to tear that wall down completely.
“You know, I missed you last week,” I tell him. “I was in bed, all alone and miserable, and I thought about you a lot.”
He chuckles lightly, and my heart melts. “Too bad, I didn’t think about you at all. I just didn’t want to have to throw away the cake.”
My heart skips a beat because I’m confident that what he’s saying isn’t true: he definitely thought of me. “So, what disgusting cake do you have for me today?”
He moves away from the counter. “Let’s try something else, actually. I think you’ve suffered enough.’
I give him a nod. “I have. I felt awful, and now I’m here, still half sick, just to see you.”
“Well, don’t get too close to me, then,” he says, smirking as he grabs a piece of yellow cake from the display.
“I don’t want to get sick too.” He looks so different from just a moment ago, much more amused and relaxed, and I can tell he’s enjoying himself.
Who knows, maybe the past week was hard for him too?
“Come sit with me,” he says, as he steps away from the counter and points to one of the tables. My heart flutters again. “And tell me what you think.”
He places the plate with the yellow cake on the table, scrapes the opposite chair back, and sits down, silently inviting me to do the same.
“Aren’t you going to have any?”
He shakes his head. “I already know what it tastes like.”
I sit down in front of him and stare at the plate.
Honestly, I’m unsure if I should have cake right now.
I’ve been surviving on a very meager diet the past week, and now to switch to cake?
I especially hope it’s not as bad as the last one.
Just thinking about that prune cake makes me a little queasy.
But I don’t believe Luc would do that to me. He doesn’t strike me as a cruel person.
And so, carefully, I use my fork to slice a small piece of cake off and slowly bring it to my mouth, hoping my stomach won’t punish me for this later.
But when the flavor hits my mouth, it’s like my taste buds explode.
Wow, this is amazing! It’s creamy and fluffy, just the right balance of sweet and sour, and it’s soft and warm on my tongue.
It tastes like lemon, and I love it. I’m even inclined to think my body is grateful for the change of diet.
“Wow, this is great!” I tell him, taking another, bigger bite.
His face breaks into a smile. “I know. I made it myself.”
I almost choke on the cake. “You did?!”
He nods. “I don’t just sell cakes. I also make them.”
“And this is lemon, isn’t it?”
“It is. I thought you might like that. Or I hoped you would anyway.” His face turns a little red. “It’s my favorite.”
“Well, you’re really good at it.” A thought occurs to me, making me chuckle. “Tell me, Luc. At any point, did you start wondering whether your prune cake had driven me away for good? Worried you wouldn’t get a chance to sell me something tasty?”
“A little bit.”
My smile widens. “You know it’s going to take more for me to leave you alone than just that.”
“I do now, yes.”
So, that confirms it; he definitely thought of me when I was away. Things are looking good. If this continues, maybe I’ll successfully tear down his walls one day.
“So, do you run this place alone?” I ask him after swallowing another piece of cake. “I barely see anyone else here but you.”
“No, I run it with my dad. He owns the store and comes in the morning to bake cakes and help customers. That’s our busiest time.
In the afternoon, I’m alone. Maybe if you came earlier, you could see him.
” Suddenly, he falls silent and blushes, possibly because he just suggested introducing me to his dad. “Or not.”
I must say, I don’t like the idea much either. His dad might not be much older than me, and I’d prefer it if Luc’s not confronted with that so soon. He might lose interest in me, which I can’t afford to happen.
Instead of replying, I focus on the cake. While eating, some of it accidentally lands next to my lip.
It makes him laugh, and he seems happy for the opportunity to turn the topic away from his father. “You eat like a pig.”
“Did you ever consider I do that on purpose?” I ask jokingly. “Get myself covered in cake, hoping you’ll wipe it off? Or better yet, lick it off?”
“You’re so gross,” he says, but the way his longing gaze lands on my mouth for several seconds too long tells me he doesn’t mean it.
“You missed me,” I say, wondering if I’m pressing my luck. I grab a napkin from the holder to clean my face. “Just admit it.”
He lifts his chin and looks straight at me. “I’ll admit you have a way of making things more interesting around here.”
I smile flirtatiously and lean toward him. “Then how about you let me make it up to you by taking you out on a date?”
“I only date French guys,” he instantly replies, causing disappointment to fill me. It’s strange how far I’m willing to go to be what he wants, but no matter what I do, I could never be French. Regardless of how much I pretend, I know he’ll never see me that way.
“Oh,” I reply, leaning back in the chair, not bothering to hide my disappointment.
He sees it, and for a second his gaze falls in what almost looks like regret. Then he adds, “But . . . maybe you could convince me otherwise? I mean, Canada is a bit like France, right?”
I can’t help but realize that this is the first time he’s called me Canadian instead of American.
“I’m from the English part of Canada,” I say before I think it through, mentally beating myself up over it as soon as the words leave my mouth.
“But there are plenty of people there who speak French! And I’m learning! Truly!”
My desperation makes him laugh, which makes me weak at the knees. Then I’m especially relieved to be sitting when he says with that beautiful, smooth tongue of his, “Mais seulement un petit-déjeuner.”
Luckily, I know just enough French from reading it off a menu to know that petit-déjeuner means breakfast.
“Breakfast?” I repeat, surprised. “Breakfast as a date?”
“Oui. I have an extra late shift here tomorrow, so it has to be before.”
“Okay. That’s . . . unusual for a date, but I’m definitely in.” Then, to my embarrassment, I make several weak attempts to tell him in French how excited I am about it, one even worse than the other, and he laughs at me. I can’t blame him.
“Stop!” he says, baring white teeth and his eyes twinkling. “You’re butchering my language.”
I can only return his grin. “Probably, but you catch the drift, right?”
“Oui, I get what you mean.”
“Then that’s all that matters,” I reply, smiling, hope swirling through me. For the first time in a long while, I finally have what looks like a promising date. I can’t wait.